


Cold Winds

by DinRedfire



Category: Eternal Arcadia | Skies of Arcadia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Muraji has a backstory, Ramirez is slightly younger, Ramirez land in Yafutoma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:22:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22500913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinRedfire/pseuds/DinRedfire
Summary: Fourteen-year-old Muraji's life drastically changes when his father speaks of his ambitions to have him take the throne. And a certain Silvite finds himself in the middle of this after an unceremonious landing.
Relationships: Ramirez/Muraji (Eternal Arcadia)
Kudos: 3





	1. Cold despair

Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Keep the bow steady… and release the arrow.

_Thunk._

A complete miss. Muraji sighed, his shoulders sagging as he stepped forward to retrieve his arrows. None of them had hit their initial mark.

“Tch. Are you even trying?”

He jumped as he heard his father’s voice. He turned toward him, not daring to look in his eyes. He was probably afraid of what he would see in them. Disapproval? Mockery? Disappointment? Muraji bit his lip, not even knowing what to say anymore. The art of archery was traditionally taught to Yafutoman nobles and soldiers. Muraji did not particularly excel at it, but he wasn’t usually this unfocused.

“I am not expecting you to become a soldier. I’m not planning to let my only son die before he hit a target anyway.”

Muraji flinched.

Only son. Simple words who carried a terrible burden.

“It is only a hobby, Father…” he finally said.

“It would be time better spent studying. How about honing your actual talents?”

“I... Yes... Father.”

Muraji dejectedly went back to the shooting target. Under his father’s watchful eyes, it felt like a walk of shame. Every arrows seemed to serve to remind him of his failures. Muraji fought back tears. Crying now would only add more to his humiliation. As he pulled the arrows he felt like hanging the bow against the wall for good. 

The archery field used to be his sanctuary. The whole reason he picked up this activity was because it was the one place where he could clear his mind. Lately, his father had been shadowing him and now even the place that used to be his alone made him feel trapped.

As he returned, Kangan looked down to him.

“Muraji... There is something we must discuss.”

The young man gulped. These words never boded well for him. No matter how much he searched his mind, he couldn’t recall anything in particular he had done to displease his father. 

But there was always something.

He left the room and his bow behind as he followed dutifully. He was Kangan’s only son, his heir. He carried a long and noble lineage, his father made sure he never forgot that. Kangan wasn’t so cruel as to outwardly blame him for it, but regardless, Muraji felt that guilt whenever he saw his Mother’s shrine. A reminder that she was gone so he could live. Muraji couldn’t help but to throw a side-glance at it. His Father never told him about his mother. All he knew was that she was to be a shrine priestess before ending up marrying Kangan. The Temple would have been Muraji’s heritage, but...

Kangan stopped and motioned for his son to sit down.

“What I’m going to say here will not leave this room. Do I make myself clear?”

“Y-Yes Father,” Muraji replied warily.

Maybe he mistook his tone of voice for hesitation, as Kangan frowned.

“I am serious. Any word of it would mean the death of us both.”

Muraji froze as his eyebrows raised.

“Daigo will soon be banished.”

Muraji recoiled in shock, eyes opening wild. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

“P-Prince Daigo?! Why?”

“Listen. This country needs a capable leader. Someone who’s intelligent, wise, and most of all, someone who does not associate with traitors.”

Muraji swore his jaw would drop to the floor. He knew his father had disagreements with King Mikado, but this wasn’t a simple talk. Kangan was talking about committing High Treason.

“Father, do you know what you’re saying?! Daigo is the rightful heir, there’s no way around it!”

“There is. I have all the proof I need to convince His Majesty King Mikado that his son is conspiring against him.”

Muraji wisely held his tongue. He knew it wouldn’t end well if he questioned the reliability of Kangan’s “proof”.

“You’re suggesting to let Princess Moegi take over with her would-be husband in that case?”

Muraji only expressed the logical outcome out loud but then, what this would imply finally dawned on him. Kangan smirked and nodded.

“It’s good to see you catch on quick.”

Muraji shook his head vividly.

“Father! I... I can’t do this! Really?! Princess Moegi and me?”

Kangan hit him on the cheek with his fan, as he usually did to demand silence.

“Keep it down. Whether Daigo becomes King of not, the princess will have to get used to the idea of being in an arranged marriage. As should you. I will not live to have my son become only a servant. I was meant to do so much more. You were meant to do so much more.”

Muraji lowered his head, he could feel himself shaking. He knew his father always had high expectations of him, but becoming the king? 

That was too much. 

As if to deal the finishing blow, Kangan spoke again.

“I will not have you disappoint me again.”

“...May I excuse myself, Father?”

Kangan finally nodded and Muraji stepped out of the room. He did not know where he was going. All he wanted to do was put as much distance as possible between him and his father. 

What was he supposed to do? Run to Prince Daigo and tell him everything? If he did he would be accused of plotting along. Did... Did his Father tell him to make him an accomplice? Telling Princess Moegi? She had no power to help... She was a pawn as much as he was.

He hunched over a stone, out of breath. His walk had turned into a run and he found himself in the stone garden in his courtyard. The place no longer made him feel at peace. Nowhere would be safe anymore. Tears welled up, his throat clenched. No matter how much he searched in his mind, there was no escape out of this situation. 

It was futile to hope for anything. He had a duty to follow. He was his father's only son, all he had to do was to remain an obedient one. And yet, Muraji made one desperate prayer that night.

"Please...Someone help me…"

Nothing but empty words, a choked whisper lost in the winds. He closed his eyes and began counting to ten. 

1...2...3...4…

At the count of ten he was going to quiet his thoughts and swear to not have any more complaints. He would be the son Kangan expected him to be. Obedient through and through. 

5...6...7…

His countdown slowed down, as if he hoped a miracle would happen. His father calling him back to say he changed his mind, nip that treason idea in the bud. They already had everything they could wish for. An honorable position as the King's most trusted advisor, money, prestige… Wasn't that enough?

8...9...

Muraji dried his eyes as he stood up. He forced himself to stop any tears threatening to fall. 

He looked unsightly and weak. He was nothing like Daigo. How could his father expect him to fill his shoes? In a way, he should be thrilled, thankful even. He should be resenting Daigo for being everything he was not. Muraji was not very athletic or strong, he was more studious than the prince but he remained painfully average in intellect. Not too bad, not too good… The very definition of unremarkable. 

Daigo was wild and irresponsible but the people loved him and when he was leading, people followed… Muraji the first, ever since they were kids. 

As for Moegi…

He couldn’t deny that she was beautiful but she had always been more like an older sister figure to him. Then again, Muraji was still only fourteen. He had grown past the “girls are icky” phase, but he found himself still uninterested in romance. 

“Is this… normal? Maybe in a few years it will change…” 

Maybe in a few years he would also become someone worth being a King. He let out a derisive scoff. As if… 

The breeze that blew past him made him shiver and hold his arms. Was the wind always this cold? It felt like winter was coming early. Muraji sighed, walking toward his home like a defeated man. 

Something made him stop. Muraji just wanted to look anywhere but directly toward his home and he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Before he could even comprehend it, there was a loud crash and he immediately dropped to the floor hugging his knees.

An explosion? Were they attacked?! Yafutoma hadn’t been invaded in centuries and the Blue Winds always protected them before. He heard his father’s voice screaming, calling out for him as if it was in concern. Of all the time to show it…

Muraji waited… He didn’t know for what. For more screams, fire, the end of the world… But there was nothing. His father arrived outside, visibly out of breath, his eyes wide. 

“What’s going on?!’’

There was nothing but Muraji laying still in that fetal position. Flushing, he immediately got up and dusted his clothes.

“I… I don’t know. Maybe a moonstone falling?”

It happened but the world being more sky than land, it rarely hit any ground. Especially not the heart of a city. Kangan shook his head.

“It’s too loud for that… Stay inside, Muraji, I will have someone--”

“My Lord! You should come quick! There’s… there’s a…’’

A servant had joined them, visibly shaken. It took everything for them to form complete sentences. Kangan’s expression went from concern to annoyance. 

“Well, what are you waiting for? Lead me to it!”

At this point, it seemed he had completely forgotten about Muraji as he followed an apologetic servant. Muraji followed quietly behind. His father either didn’t notice or care about his son’s disobedience. They soon noticed what the fuss was all about and how inexplicable it was. 

There was some strange machine, the like they had never seen before. It seemed to be made of some kind of metal, but they couldn’t make sense of it. 

A stone’s throw away from the bizarre apparatus, Muraji notice a flash of white.

“Snow…?” 

He moved closer with careful steps, gasping at the sight.

A person.

He thought of snow as the person was covered in white. Their clothes, skin… even their hair. Muraji wondered if he touched them, would their skin be cold? Muraji was so entranced that for a moment he forgot there was a human being in need of help in front of him. The vision was so surreal he felt like he was dreaming. 

“Lord Kangan! There’s someone!”

His father harshly made his way past him while a servant hurried to check on the person’s vitals. 

“He’s still breathing my lord!”

“Take him in! We’ll ask questions later…”

Through it all, from clearing any debris caused by the crash to the carrying of the unconscious man toward their home, Muraji was left forgotten. At that time, he didn’t mind it, content to have forgotten any of his thoughts from before. His mind was solely focused on that mysterious encounter.

“Where did he come from…?” his voice trailed off as he followed dutifully behind.

His heart was pounding.


	2. Fluttering heart

His mind felt like it was shrouded in fog, his body like lead. He felt like he was sinking toward the sky floor. He desperately fought to stay conscious, but his vision faded to gray before complete darkness took over him. 

It was darkness once again that greeted him when he opened his eyes, finding himself staring into very dark pupils. The young man watching over him recoiled as if in fear and ran, nearly tripping on his way out. 

He looked up to see a white ceiling. It was a vision that felt familiar to him at first, but… 

No. It wasn’t the same. It was not a cold, sterile white, but more like a creamy, warm hue. Warm like the blankets covering him. He was in a soft bed, but stretching his hand out he met with some rough carpeted floor, a texture he had never felt before. He was in a completely foreign land -- or was he? His head was throbbing and he couldn’t remember how he had ended up here. 

Footsteps could be heard getting closer as well as voices, but he couldn’t make any sense of their words. They were talking quickly in hushed tones, but even as he forced himself to listen, he couldn’t even begin to decipher their language.

A severe-looking older man entered the room, shadowed by a small boy-- the person who was watching over him. Another man, carrying some bag, followed right behind them but remained by the door. The stern man glared at him, as if trying to scrutinize his very soul. The other one looked as if he couldn’t look him in the eyes. Looking at the two of them, from their black hair and dark eyes to the shape of their eyes and nose, he could guess they were father and son. 

When the father spoke he could only assume he was speaking to him, picking up the harsh, wary tone. The son spoke in a softer, more trembling voice. His gaze alternated between the two of them; there was fear, worry, and caution in their tone and yet he was in a bed, his bandaged arms more proof that he was cared for. He gathered up the strength to try and speak in the common trade language his mind could remember.

“I’m sorry… I do not understand.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The boy couldn't have looked more different from him. 

His skin was a pale pinkish tone, and his nose was fine and straight. His hair was a snowy white, setting him apart amongst the dark hair of the Yafutoman people. Muraji had watched over him, a mix of fear and curiosity. What kind of eyes could someone like this possess? He almost expected to meet blood red pupils, like one of a rabbit -- it would certainly match the foreigner's look.

For a brief moment Muraji wondered if that mysterious stranger came from the moon -- a thought that accidentally left his mouth.

"Don't be stupid," Kangan admonished him. 

It was most likely a Westerner. They hadn't set foot in the lands of the blue Moon in centuries, but it was more likely. 

Still, that raised more questions. Should they warn the King? It seemed he was alone; with his poor landing and his visibly young age -- he couldn't have been much older than Muraji -- it indicated this was more an unfortunate accident than invasion. 

But Kangan remained cautious. He did not give his trust easily, especially not to foreigners. Though he had never met one himself, his forefathers did and the tales always ended bloody. Westerners were remembered as barbaric colonialists.

The stranger’s eyes fluttered open, and Muraji was surprised to see gentle, dark green eyes. He had never seen such beautiful eyes, even on the fairest maidens of the country.

He broke into a run before he could even analyze his own thoughts. When his father confronted their uninvited guest, the foreigner only met them with confused silence -- until he spoke the old trade language of the skies, which only confirmed Kangan's initial suspicions.

While it was not the case for most common people in Yafutoma, any member of the royal court was taught the language, if only for personal culture. The royal library held some rare books from the West -- spoils of past wars. The first goal was to know as much as they could about possible enemies, and the second was to be able to trade and negotiate, although Kangan remained a firm believer that Yafutoma should remain isolated. 

“Where do you come from?’’ Kangan nearly spat those words as if just speaking them was a humiliation.

The white-haired stranger recoiled, his eyes not meeting theirs. Seeing him looking so nervous and helpless made Muraji feel like they were not a threat. For once, Muraji spoke up against his father.

“Father… Shouldn’t we have asked for his name first?”

He could tell, as much as anyone, that the foreigner looked confused and scared.

“Silence, Muraji. It is my duty to determine what kind of threat this Westerner poses. If he refuses to reply, I’ll have no choice but to--”

Kangan had briefly returned to their own language to address his son, leaving the stranger in the dark.

“...I do not know.”

Kangan and Muraji both turned their attention back to him, the young man meekly lowering his head in response, as if in shame.

“I don’t remember… My home. My name.”

He shook his head. He was frowning as if desperately trying to recall.

“If I may, Lord Kangan.”

The physician who tended to the stranger’s wound, quietly standing to the side, spoke up. 

“While his injuries are superficial, he  _ has _ hit his head, and the shock of the accident may have caused this amnesia. I assume it’s temporary and that he will recover in a few days.”

Kangan frowned as he ran his hand through his beard.

“If… I am causing trouble, I will leave,” the foreigner said.

Muraji raised his eyebrows. Leave… The machine they determined was the foreigner’s ship was not in a state to fly. Even their best engineers couldn’t figure out how to even make it work. That, along with being in such a confused state… 

“...We shall be magnanimous. Never let it be said that the Monzeki family abandons the weak.”

Muraji quickly turned toward Kangan, his eyes widening.

“Father?”

Kangan had seemed to mentally debate the pros and cons but once his mind had been made up, he nodded once more to clarify his intentions.

“He can stay until he makes a full recovery.”

Once again, in their language, he added to his son.

“You will watch over him. If he remembers anything at all or mentions something noteworthy to you, you will report it to me.”

Muraji nodded obediently, although the feeling of having his father make him in charge of a vital-sounding task was weighing on his shoulders.

Kangan turned and addressed one of his rare smiles to their guest, as if to ease his tension.

“I am Lord Kangan, and this is my son, Muraji.”

He finally introduced himself and Muraji, taking on the act of the benevolent caregiver. Muraji attempted a shy smile at the foreigner as well, but he did have the nagging feeling that his father did not do this out of the kindness of his heart. 

Their guest slightly bowed his head in polite response.

“Thank you for saving me and for your kindness. I am in your debt.”

The answer seemed to please Kangan enough for his lip to curve upward once again.

“At least he shows some semblance of not taking our generosity for granted,” Kangan said, moving to leave, “I shall report to King Mikado; Muraji, you stay over here and watch him.”

“I shall excuse myself as well. Please alert me if the patient’s condition changes.” The physician bowed and left the room.

Muraji could only watch, his eyes wide and mouth agape, as he was left alone with the foreigner. His heart was still pounding in his chest and he could feel the stranger’s eyes on him. 

“Where am I?’’ He spoke up, making him jump.

“You are in my family’s domain, in Yafutoma, the country under the blue moon.” Muraji stated this trying to sound as confident as his father did whenever he asserted his authority as lord. 

“Blue moon…” the stranger murmured, frowning as if lost in thought, “I remember the...silver moon.”

Muraji gasped.

“You really are a Westerner, then… I don’t know much about the countries under the silver moon.”

Muraji cupped his chin in his hand in a thoughtful pose as he recalled what he had read about the western world.

“ I know the closest kingdom… relatively speaking, is the green moon one. Our old maps refer to it as Montezuma. ...I don’t know how accurate they are though.” 

Muraji was surprised to see himself so talkative to their guest -- he was usually reserved with strangers. Perhaps he was trying to show off his knowledge, though as he spoke he realized he was very limited in what he knew about western countries. Moegi was the one to ask, considering she had full access to the royal library.

Thinking about her again made his heart twist. 

Suddenly, he remembered who he was supposed to be, what he was supposed to become. The stranger arriving was nothing but a distraction in all of this. 

Muraji bit his lower lip. Moegi had mentioned before that she wished she could see what the west looked like. While Muraji did not share her fascination for it, he could now understand the feeling of wanting to get away. Perhaps if he went to the country under the silver moon, he could be far away from his Father’s influence, far away from all this.

“Are you all right?”

Muraji raised his head to notice the foreigner looking at him with deep concern.

“I… Yes, of course. I was just...lost in thought.”

The foreigner’s eyes were soft but his brow was furrowed with worry

“You look… lonely.” 

The way the stranger looked at him was the very picture of sincerity. It almost reminded him of the concerned looks Moegi gave him when he was sulking as a child. 

That was not what he needed. 

“I am not!” Muraji snapped back, stamping his foot, before adding in a weaker tone, “...I am not… It’s okay.”

He repeated for good measure. This time he was hoping he would convince himself.

The white haired boy slowly nodded. He looked unconvinced but decided to drop the further queries. 

“If you say so, Muraji…”

That snapped him back to attention. Muraji frowned severely. He didn’t like the feeling of having that foreigner patronizing him, and especially not his familiarity.

Maybe that was what put him on edge, the point of giving him palpitations.

“You sure have some nerve, crashing into my home and being so familiar with me,” Muraji spoke in an annoyed tone, looking down at the stranger.

He would not admit it out loud but he did like the apologetic look on that stranger’s face. It felt like he had some kind of authority. 

Now that he thought about it, the foreigner knew nothing about him. It was a full blank slate. He would not be the clingy younger brother figure to him. This foreigner wouldn’t look down on him and make him recall embarrassing stories. To him, he would look like the dignified lord Muraji Monzeki. 

If he really was to grow into the role his father forced upon him, this could be good practice. Muraji still felt no enthusiasm for it, but if his father could throw fake smiles, maybe he could show some semblance of confidence.

“Forgive me… What should I say then?” He replied, earnestly, waiting for an answer as if eager to please him.

Such a submissive look on a boy older than he was made Muraji feel like he was suddenly important. He scoffed, deciding to test his newfound authority. “We’re close in age so I’ll be lenient… You can call me Lord Muraji, or Muraji-dono in our language. If you’re here to stay a while, you should have _ some _ grasp on how to speak Yafutoman.”

The young man nodded. He was not mocking him or refusing. If this was Daigo or Moegi, he would have been ridiculed or gently scolded for his arrogance.

“I understand, Muraji-dono. I did not mean any disrespect.”

The way he said it made him feel on edge for some reason. He could feel his face heat up and suddenly he only wanted to be Muraji for him. He pressed his lips together, holding his tongue to avoid looking like an indecisive fool, and coughed to clear his throat.

“Good.”

The stranger kept quiet and for a while they both sat in uncomfortable silence, allowing Muraji an uninterrupted opportunity to observe. Even from his sitting position, Muraji could tell the foreigner was taller than he was. He was also, objectively speaking, better-looking than he was. Still, looking at him, he did not have that arrogance that people better than him tended to have. He did not sit straight up to assert his confidence; instead, he was slightly bowing, as if he already accepted Muraji was his superior. It was an odd and unfamiliar sight, but one that sent a pleasurable thrill through him.

“What would you call me?”

That brought Muraji back to reality. 

“You...really don’t recall your name, huh?” He looked at the white-haired foreigner thoughtfully. 

Not just his skin, but his clothes, even his hair was a pure white. It felt like he was shining amongst them. 

“I don’t… I’m sorry,” he replied meekly.

Muraji shook his head slightly as if in annoyance. “It’s not like it’s your fault…”

Or maybe it was, he thought with a sour note. If he knew how to sail properly, he wouldn’t have landed like this in his father’s courtyard. Looking at the Westerner, he recalled what he first reminded him of. 

“You need a name… So…”

The foreigner looked at him, eyes wide and attentive.

“Yuki,” Muraji decided.

The stranger repeated the name. “Yuki?”

“Because you remind me of snow.” 

It was neither an insult nor a compliment -- simply a statement. But the newly-named Yuki was positively beaming as if he had received a great honor.

“Yuki… Yuki…” He repeated the name softly, as if getting used to pronounce the foreign name while smiling softly.

Through it all, Muraji realized his heart never calmed down.


	3. Bonding

" _ Yuki?  _ Please, Muraji, this is not a pet." Kangan admonished him as soon as he had come back from the palace. 

He was unwilling to tell Muraji about his conversation with King Mikado. In a way, Muraji was lucky to be at his father's side so often during his royal audience, but the rare times he did not attend, it seemed as if his father didn't deem it important to keep him up to date.

Not that Muraji did anything particularly meaningful in these meetings. He simply stood aside and listened, echoing his father's thoughts in the hope of being acknowledged. With their guest here, his father's attention was mostly directed at him. 

On one hand, Muraji felt like his fate to be King was put on the back-burner. On the other, he couldn't help but feel resentful. Kangan still treated Yuki with distrust, but he made sure that his wounds were taken care of and prepared clothes for him from his personal wardrobe. The foreigner was about Kangan's height and he was not done growing. 

That was what hurt Muraji the most. 

Every day, he looked in the mirror waiting for a growth spurt, but he still retained his short stature -- much to his frustration. Some kimonos were passed down from generation to generation, and it felt as though his ancestors were denying Muraji the right to wear them.

A right casually given to the mysterious stranger. 

Muraji attributed his increased heartbeat in Yuki's presence to frustration at first, but it was soon short-lived. Barely a day had passed when he felt well enough to stand up, healing surprisingly quickly. Having no else to turn to, Yuki started dutifully following Muraji. 

"This is the courtyard where we found you… We were lucky you didn't destroy our personal garden," Muraji noted sourly.

Muraji noticed his guest's eyes wander and he frowned.

"What is it?" Muraji asked, his hands on his hips, not bothering to hide his annoyance at seeing his guest already being unattentive.

Yuki turned his attention back to Muraji, his expression sincerely apologetic.

"Ah, my apologies! I was simply wondering...What are those?"

He pointed at the pond where the koi fish swam, peeking frequently out of the water.

Muraji blinked, his eyes following what Yuki pointed at with such interest. 

"Those are koi fish…" He replied boredly.

"Oooh… They’re beautiful…" The stranger breathed with such awe that it caught the Yafutoman’s attention.

Muraji examined Yuki's face. His eyes were wide and curious, and he was looking at something so mundane with such innocent fascination that Muraji was taken aback by it.

"Do… you want to try feeding them?" he suggested.

Yuki looked him in the eyes with the excitement of a child on a festival day.

"May I?" His bright, green eyes sparkling with joy and his smile was infectious. Muraji could feel his expression soften despite himself. 

"Of course. Let me get something."

He ran further in the courtyard to the Koketas’ cage. They clucked angrily at him stealing some of their corn, taking a handful.

"Oh, hush." 

Come to think of it… Had Yuki ever seen Koketas? He would save it for later. His guest's joyful smile and cheerfulness still haunted him, making him feel strangely giddy himself. 

He hurried to Yuki's side, slightly out of breath, his hands full with the corn kernels.

"Here, take some."

Muraji motioned for the stranger’s hands, splitting the pet food before kneeling to the excited koi. He could feel once again the stranger's fascinated eyes upon him as he sprinkled his hand's contents upon the pond. 

"Wow, they must really be hungry!"

Yuki mimicked his gesture, smiling with delight. Muraji lost the will to be sour or moody, taken in by the white-haired boy’s pure, sincere, happiness. 

“We don’t have fish where I live,” he said eventually.

Muraji raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t? Then what did you eat--” Muraji paused, struck with a realization, “Wait, are you regaining your memories?’’

Yuki paused to think, but he ultimately shook his head.

“Only bits of it. I try to think hard about it, but all I know is that… I’ve never seen a place like this. The plants… the water… the fish… Everything is so colorful and… and alive.”

He looked so sincere when he said it, Muraji had to wonder what kind of place he came from. It must have been some strange, sterile world, for him to marvel at nature. Muraji saw this scenery every day and he had of course gotten accustomed to it. Seeing someone in such awe made him wonder if he had taken it for granted. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t remember more,” Yuki apologized, his eyes downcast.

Muraji shook his head, raising his hands in placating motion. “Don’t worry about it! I mean, not even a day has passed yet. The doctor did say it would take a few days to recover.”

Or weeks. Why did he find himself wishing for weeks? He should hope for his guest to regain his memory as fast as possible. And yet… He found himself relieved when he learned that he didn’t.

Why?

“Can you show me more of your home?” Yuki looked up to him with eyes sparkling with interest.

“Of course! Follow me!” Muraji tried to quiet his thoughts as he entertained his guest. 

The sky was already taking on an orange hue as time flew by them. Muraji noticed that even the sky’s color itself seemed to be cause for joyful fascination. As for Muraji himself, he admired the way the sun cast a golden color on Yuki’s pale locks. Even the hair on the elderly, turned white over the years, did not have that brilliant shine. 

He still felt that restlessness in his chest. Muraji attributed it to all the time they spent running around in the courtyard. It had been an exhausting day, after all.

“Muraji!” His father beckoned to him.

He jumped and obediently ran to him, followed closely by their guest. 

“Yes, father?”

“I trust you are well enough to move?” Kangan’s attention was directed to Yuki.

Muraji lowered his head. His Father probably beckoned him more specifically to address the stranger without having to use the placeholder name. 

“Yes, I am deeply grateful to you, Kangan-dono,” Yuki bowed low, another thing Muraji had taught him this afternoon. 

Kangan’s expression lit up with a slight smile.

“Hmmm… You are quick to learn manners. Very good.” 

Muraji raised his head quickly. Did he just hear his father praising someone?

“Muraji-dono has taught me a lot!” Yuki excitedly replied.

Muraji felt his face flush with embarrassment as his father turned to him. He technically was not the lord of this domain and undeserving of such an honorific. He expected Kangan to scold him harshly, but surprisingly, he kept quiet about this.

“King Mikado has learned of our guest and has graced the three of us with an invitation to his palace. I would have you both prepare yourself for the occasion.”

Muraji raised his head up, face still flushed but wasted no time replying to Kangan.

“Y-Yes father!”

Yuki turned once again to Muraji, confusion evident in his eyes.

“The King…?” 

Muraji beckoned for Yuki to follow him, answering his many questions on the way as Kangan watched them with a thoughtful expression.

* * *

Yuki was lent another of Kangan’s kimonos for the occasion. It was dyed a deep black, patterned with gold dragons on the chest and sleeves. Muraji frowned a bit as Yuki examined himself. 

“It… it looks strange on me, doesn’t it?” Yuki said sheepishly.

It was borrowed clothes, he looked deathly pale and the cloth did not exactly match his fair skin, but it would have to do for the occasion. 

“It can’t be helped. The most important thing is remembering the etiquette rules I taught you”

Yuki nodded, although slightly hesitant.

“There’s a lot to remember…” 

Muraji sighed, feeling both sympathy and worry. 

“I didn’t even tell you everything. This is something you’ll have to get accustomed to, or Father will never let us hear the end of it.”

Muraji felt responsible for Yuki’s actions and he himself was nervous about meeting with the King on the first day. While any of their guest’s potential mistakes could be excused on the basis of him being a foreigner, both Muraji and Kangan would look negligent as his caretakers. 

Muraji prayed for a rather short and informal gathering. Yuki fiddled with his obi sash, trying to make sense of it, bringing Muraji out of his own thoughts.

"Ah, hold on."

He had moved without thinking, carefully tying the belt as Yuki watched him. It was the sudden proximity and those green eyes upon him that made him take a step back.

He could feel his face flush as he turned his back to Yuki, trying to calm down.

"Muraji-dono?"

That title did not help.

"I… You can stop calling me that title. If anything, you should reserve that for my father and the other lords." Muraji muttered, still flushed. 

"You're someone of importance too, aren't you?"

Muraji's heart nearly jumped out of his chest. Being called important made him feel a surge of pride, but it was quickly dampened as he shook his head.

"I'm no one yet… Just my father's son."

"Well… To me, you are Muraji, my friend." 

  
  


Muraji felt as if his heart would burst, not even daring to face Yuki. His voice held no sarcasm or mockery. 

"Muraji?" Yuki pressed on and he could hear his footsteps getting closer.

"M-Moons, you're embarrassing!" Muraji ran out of the room, still followed frantically by Yuki. 

Those were not the words he had wanted to say. 


End file.
